First Cut
by gleekilicious
Summary: "Last chance," Blaine all but whispers, the light shining at an awkward angle that throws half of his face into shadow and Blaine has never looked so much like a classic movie star, except now... Now he's the star in a horror film, rather than a romance.


A/N: This is just a short one-shot I wrote after being so inspired by all the SerialKiller!Klaine jokes on Tumblr. The idea just wouldn't leave me alone! Perhaps after Teenage Kicks, I'll write a proper fic on it, but for now, I come bearing this horror-show. Reviews are much, much loved!

Xxx xxx xxX

This is Kurt's first time, and Blaine's second. He's got the bucket prepared, off to the side, just in case. Even though Kurt's assured him many times he'll be fine, that he wants to do this, Blaine knows the swell of nausea that rises, the sickness, the moral fears and doubt and guilt that – for a second – overshadows the thrill of the act. So he has the bucket, even though he warned Kurt not to eat much before hand. After all, he might be joining him in its use.

The girl is crying, though her hysterical sobs have calmed down to pathetic whimpers, her face blotchy and red, eyes bloodshot and nose running. It's disgusting. Blaine smiles at her, almost lovingly before he turns to Kurt, a serious gleam in his eye.

"This is your last chance to walk away, Kurt. I won't tell anyone and," he snorted, glancing back to the girl, "she certainly won't."

"... I'm not going anywhere. I've said it before, I want this as much as you do."

"You can't leave halfway through."

"I don't plan to."

After a long moment Blaine nods and turns back to the girl with a smile, his hand gentle on her slick cheek. "Kurt," he says softly, "we're going to need the gag now." Kurt moves, fiddling with his gloves as he goes over to the sports bag, filled with equipment for their games. He draws out the simple – yet effective – gag and hands it over, Blaine tenderly tying it in place. The girl's sobs are louder now, but muffled. Kurt swallows. "Last chance," Blaine all but whispers, the light shining at an awkward angle that throws half of his face into shadow and Blaine has never looked so much like a classic movie star, except now...

… Now he's the star in a horror film, rather than a romance.

And Kurt loves him all the more for it.

Blaine stands and goes over to the bag. The girl is shaking so hard the chair is rattling, and Kurt giggles before he can stop himself, the first wave of guilt slamming into him. He licks his lips and watches as Blaine slowly starts to take out everything they've brought, his white-gloved hands stroking each shimmering blade. Kurt opted for black gloves, but he knew Blaine loved the way blood looked on white. He remembered that look of such primal hunger in Blaine's eyes when he had slipped once, bashing his nose against the wall in the corridor of Dalton, how the blood had run over his fingers to stipple crimson on the white of the marble floor, how Blaine had froze, eyes following each quick drip...

… How hard he'd kissed him as soon as they'd got to a bathroom, the blood smearing between them in a way that terrified Kurt and made him ache for more.

Blaine stands and in his hand is simply a scalpel. Small, neat, catching and throwing the light as Blaine holds it up and turns it, inspecting it, before smiling at Kurt and offering it – handle outwards.

"Would you like the first cut...?"

"Such a gentleman," Kurt murmurs, slowly taking the knife and facing the girl who looks like she's going to be the first to need to use the bucket, her hair damp and stuck to her cheeks as she wordlessly begs for mercy. He slowly walks over, savouring each click of his heel against the concrete floor. He feels so powerful, so in control.

"Your hand's shaking," Blaine smirks, leaning casually against the wall and watching with hungry eyes.

"It's excitement," Kurt whispers, and it is. For the most part. His breathing is light but fast and his heart is racing as he slowly lifts the weapon, resting the flat plane of the blade against the trembling girl's cheek. Her eyes are clamped closed, and a little bit of Kurt is glad. He swallows, can feel the tension rising, can feel the air getting hotter, heavier, tinted with the smell of fear and anticipating the tang of blood.

Kurt thinks of the first time he was shoved into a locker, some nameless animal shouting that three-lettered word after him and his hand is moving before his brain can interject, drawing back the blade and slashing down at her, across her cheek and over her nose.

Kurt's pretty sure that they both scream at the same time and he takes a step back, the blood rushing down her face. He's cut deep. The blood looks like his venom, drooling down her face and neck, like his anger pouring out of her.

"Do you need the bucket?" Blaine asks softly, touching Kurt's jaw and then brushing his thumb against his temple. Kurt shakes his head, breathing slowly through his nose.

"No... No, I'm fine..." he murmurs, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning into the touch, smiling when he feels Blaine's lips brush his chastely.

"I'm proud of you... The first cut's the hardest..." Blaine smirks against Kurt's mouth and draws back with a wink. "Did you take my advice?" Kurt nods, already craving that kiss.

"I did..."

"I could tell," Blaine laughs, gently turning Kurt back to the girl and whispering in his ear. "Again." Kurt moves and this time there's more confidence to his actions. The flood of blood is marred by the girl's tears, the gag is damp with it and Kurt can't help but think of every expression he's seen her pull, this one is her best yet. His hand touches her head, her nose... His fingers touch the cut... And then the blade is flickering through the air and this time he feels the catch, the rip, the tear, the tug of flesh against the diamond-sharp edge, his eyes widen and his pupils dilate, breath short and stilted as she screams. Kurt is silent this time, the fingertips of his gloves soaked in her blood as he pulls the scalpel out and away, leaning in to inspect the ragged hole in her cheek.

Kurt turns suddenly and drops the blade, staggering over to the bucket as his body convulses with horror at what he's done, collapsing onto his knees and ducking over it, stomach heaving. Blaine calmly follows, touching the Kurt's nape and then his back as the boy dry heaves. "It's alright... Just keep breathing deeply... Here..." he reaches over to the pile of things and hands over a little bottle of water which Kurt takes thankfully, drinking before sitting back on his knees. The feeling passes and he slowly puts the bottle down, the heady lust for what he's done returning.

"... I'm fine now..."

"Don't worry. I was sick the first time too. I might still be," he smiles, nudging his shoulder as if they were sharing a joke. The girl's muffled, aching sobs echo around them. "Ready to go back?"

"More than," Kurt nods, taking Blaine's hand as they move back to her. Blaine stoops and picks up the blade, tapping the tip against his lips. His eyes are fixed on hers as his tongue catches a single drop of blood. Kurt shivers, averting his eyes for a second but looking back as Blaine steps forward and cups her cheek, tilting it up so that the light glimmers over the blood and sweat and tears.

Blaine moves the scalpel like an artist, each flick and twist coaxing a weak scream from the girl before him, the plit-plit of blood hitting the floor a steady tempo. Kurt swallows, his stomach twisting again as scraps of flesh fall to the floor like maggots, Blaine carving to the bone. Kurt jumps when Blaine speaks.

"Having fun, Kurt...?"

"... Yeah," Kurt finally breathes, a small, giddy smile on his face because he is. Even though he feels a bit sick and his head is spinning, his body feels on fire. His fingers twitch and Blaine smirks, simply handing him the blade and going to the contents of his bag.

Blaine comes back with a carving knife as Kurt etches stars into her shoulder, digging deeper and deeper, his gloves sticky with her blood. "Kurt," he murmurs, and Kurt steps back obediently but leaves the blade buried in her. Blaine snorts, giving him a fond look and kissing his cheek. "Nice touch..."

"Why thank you," Kurt smiles, winking. Blaine nudges him playfully and spins the blade between his fingers before stepping forward and letting the tip run up her shaking thigh. His fingers – gloves somehow still spotless – slowly lift up her shirt, exposing the taunt skin of her stomach. If Kurt didn't know Blaine so well, he would have perhaps wondered on the sensuality, the sexual undertones in what Blaine was doing and – perhaps – if it was a boy they had, then he would worry. But as it stands, Kurt knows fine well that the thrill is in the kill. The tip trips over her flesh, drawing nonsensical patterns before Blaine's body moves like a bow and arrow, snapping forward.

She barely makes a noise as twelve inches of unforgiving steel slide into her guts, but her eyes are fixed on Blaine's and Kurt is struck at how handsome he looks and how pretty she looks. Blaine's hand pushes in more and she chokes, blood bubbling around the knife and finally staining Blaine's fingers.

"Kurt," he breathes, his voice husky with emotion that sends chills and thrills racing down Kurt's spine. "Come and feel this."

He steps forward and Blaine takes his hand, wrapping it around the blade of the knife buried within her, and then clasps his own over Kurt. They're both panting, Blaine's breath washing over Kurt's ear in a way that makes his head spin as Blaine guides his hand. She wails and the noise makes them both jolt and then laugh, looking to each other before back to her. With a synchronized twist of their wrists the blade is ripping up, between her rips and Blaine lets out a soft noise as blood simply washes down her. She goes limp, her skin white as she whimpers, too weak to scream.

Kurt is gasping for breath as Blaine pulls away, leaving Kurt holding the handle and staring at her face. When Blaine comes back, he's holding a single cord of rope and moves to stand behind her, tenderly wrapping it around her neck. She barely moves as Blaine yanks it tight, cutting off her airflow and pressing his cheek to hers, closing his eyes. A small smile plays about his lips as her body jerks, the whiteness of her face taking on a blue tinge. Her eyes roll back as each spasm shoves her body further along the blade Kurt's pressing in, his and Blaine's breathing ragged as they watch her squirm and then die before them.

She slumps finally, eyes frozen and staring at the ceiling and Blaine shudders, licking his lips and slowly pulling back as Kurt slides the knife out of her stomach and drops it.

The silence is deafening, rushing around them like the blood in their veins, pounding behind their eyes, their chests heaving and their skin palpitating with it, the rush, the thrill, the adrenaline.

They laugh at the same time, the light casting them half in shadows, a kaleidoscope of red, black and white and they look simply beautiful, the pool of blood lapping at the soles of their shoes. The scene is perfect and as Blaine steps over to him, crossing into the blackness of where the light can't penetrate, he takes Kurt's hands and kisses him, looming out of the harsh shadows to do so, it's the most romantic moment of his entire life.

"I love you," Blaine whispers, their noses nudging. Kurt barely gives him space to finish before he's speaking.

"I love you too..."

The clean up isn't quick, but they work meticulously and every single drop of blood and evidence is washed away or burned in what used to be the bathroom of the warehouse, Blaine raking over and over the ash until everything that could be burnt was just dust, including their clothes and gloves. By the time he's done, Kurt's managed to wrestle the body – wrapped in sheets – into the bag and done another clean up.

"Ready to go?" Blaine smiles, shouldering his sport bag and kissing Kurt's cheek.

"Of course." Kurt's managed to drape the bag over his shoulder and his surprising strength makes it not too much of a difficult task. Blaine does one last check and, satisfied no evidence is left, they leave. The body is dumped in what used to be an old camping site, long abandoned. However the drains are still intact and the bag is sunk to the bottom of the mire left in a tiny space the toilets used to drain to, accessed after climbing down a hidden shaft. "You're sure your dad won't know you've seen the plans...?"

"Of course not," Blaine snorts, watching the biodegradable bag sink into the rancid mud. "He designed and built this place years ago, so he's not even going to check the plans. And if he did, he'd never know they'd been inspected. Stop worrying, Kurt. No-one's going to suspect us. We left the running-away note, we packed her bag, we even left the stub of the train ticket receipt in her room. She'll simply become another run-away, missing child. I've done this before, remember? Works like a charm. Besides, even if anyone does come down here, they're not going to know what's in the muck and by the time it's ever drained, she'll simply be a soup. It's perfect. Relax."

"Sorry," Kurt says snidely but without anger, simply teasing, "I don't often bury bodies." Blaine just smiles at him and they leave. It's as they pull up to Blaine's empty house – his parents away for the weekend – he turns to look at Kurt, the moonlight washing over his skin and simply increasing his insane handsomeness, and perhaps his handsome insanity.

"You're not going to miss her...?"

"Who," Kurt snorts, crooking an eyebrow. "Rachel? Not at all. Now come on. We can still catch Rent if we hurry."


End file.
